


Way Up on the Mountain, Way Down in the Valley

by Trent_In_A_Tree



Category: Martin and Lewis (2002), Martin and Lewis (RPF)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Copious displays of affection though also, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, a lot of drinking, mention of Jerry’s drug use briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27403603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trent_In_A_Tree/pseuds/Trent_In_A_Tree
Summary: Dean has a crisis of masculinity that takes almost his entire life to resolve. Jerry and Jeanne love him anyway, and Frank gives him a lot of unintentionally awful advice.
Relationships: Dean Martin/Catherine Hawn (Mentioned), Dean Martin/Jeanne Martin, Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin, Jerry Lewis/Patti Lewis, Jerry Lewis/Sam Pitnick
Comments: 18
Kudos: 18





	1. dressing room

**Author's Note:**

> title from in the misty moonlight. full disclosure, this fic is my magnum opus and the amount of effort I’ve put into it is absolutely insane; I have basically prioritized it over literally everything else. but now it’s done. this is the first time in a while that I’ve written a fic that’s a genuine endeavor and has no pornographic elements, so please enjoy <3

“Voila,” Jerry says, flicking the hand with the foundation brush away from Dean’s face with affected gusto, “My masterpiece is finished. Take a look, bubbe.”

Dean turns on the dressing room’s spinny chair to look at himself in the mirror. He sees Jerry’s reflection above him; the kid’s clearly trying to hold back a laugh, but his eyes betray a glimmer of pride. Dean zeros in on his own face. He sees foundation galore; the heavy lights are showing that it’s really caked on. And is that blush? Blue eyeshadow and red lipstick, too, but that’s not so bad, and dark eyelashes thickened with a surplus of mascara. And, oh God, his fucking eyebrows. 

“Jer, what did you do to my eyebrows?” Dean asks, slight horror seeping into his tone.

“Outlined them,” Jerry says indignantly, “It looks good, I swear it looks good.”

“They look like a pair of caterpillars,” Dean retorts.

“That’s not my fault, they always look like caterpillars.”

“Well, pal, they usually don’t look like they do now. What is this-- complete… totally overdone--” Dean’s laughing, he can’t help laughing.

“I genuinely don’t think you look so bad, Paul,” Jerry says, and he actually sounds a little hurt.

“Aw, Jer, I’m sorry,” Dean says, “I’m just kidding, okay? You did a good job.”

Jerry pouts at him, and Dean spins back around, holding his arms out for a hug, “C’mere, you silly boy.”

Jerry leans in, burying his nose in Dean’s shoulder. The chair’s high, but not high enough for Jerry to not have to lean down awkwardly. Dean doesn’t really mind; as long as he gets to hold his pal, he’s pretty happy.

“I’m not upset,” Jerry murmurs, “I just wanted you should hug me.”

“Manipulator,” Dean says, in a mock-accusatory tone.

“Shut it, bubbe,” Jerry says back, in the same manner.

Jerry straightens up and flattens out his jeans with his hands, brushing them against his thighs a couple of times. He looks at Dean again, putting two fingers under the other man’s chin and tilting his face up; Jerry’s looking at him real tenderly. 

“I think it suits you, Paul,” Jerry says, “I think you look nice.”

“You don’t think it’s a little grotesque, Jer?” Dean says, “I mean, it’s a little much.”

“What’s a little much?” Jerry asks, “Too much makeup?”

“No, well, yes…” Dean trails off, searching for the words to articulate what he’s trying to say, “Well, not that. More the way it looks… On me.”

“You?” Jerry echoes, cocking his head, “Specifically you, bubbe, you mean, or…”

“No, well, because I’m a man, you know,” Dean shrugs.

“Now, that,” Jerry points, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile, “That I’m aware of. But, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look nice like this?”

“Well, Jer, I don’t think it looks right,” Dean says.

“Because you’re a man?” Jerry raises an eyebrow, and Dean gets the sense he’s walked into something.

“Well, that’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Well, I mean,” Jerry says, “I know that, but I didn’t hear anything but compliments when you saw me perform dressed up as a broad. And it’s been a lot of times, too, bubbe.”

“It’s different,” Dean says, throwing his hands up like he’s saying I-dunno-Jer.

“It’s not,” Jerry retorts, in a half joking tone to buffer the sharpness of what he’s saying, “I’m a man, too, in case you haven’t checked recently enough and don’t remember from last time you did, Paul.”

“You’re different, Jer, you know that,” Dean says, standing up, turning to look over his shoulder at his made up face in the mirror and seeing Jerry’s face the other side, his lips pressed together in an abnormally thin line.

“I’m different?” Jerry says, raising his eyebrows.

“You’re not like I am,” Dean says, and Jerry crosses his arms.

Dean’s sense that he was walking into something was right, because the aura radiating off Jerry was one of certain displeasure. He wasn’t losing his temper, not yet, but Dean knew he’d really done it.

“What are you getting at?”

“Jer,” Dean says, and turns towards the kid, “It’s nothing bad. I’m not saying anything bad about you, okay pal? You just like that kind of stuff, it’s in your nature to like that kind of stuff, and it’s not in mine. I’m not like that.”

“So, what? I’m a broad now?” Jerry uncrosses his arms, calmer but still not backing down.

“No, God, of course not, just more,” Dean struggles for the words for what he means, “Just more like one than I am.”

Jerry breathes in, sharp, then says, “I don’t know what you want I should say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything, kid,” Dean says, trying to be gentle.

“At least you let me put it on you,” Jerry murmurs, and he looks like he might cry, but Dean doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Jer,” Dean says, uncertain at what to do.

Dean’s not a crier; when he was a kid, it was made very clear that crying over anything less than a death wasn’t in the cards. He’s never thought poorly of Jerry for crying so much more than he does, but it’s another thing that pushes Dean towards the conclusion that they’re different, in this respect. He thinks, maybe, because Jerry’s parents weren’t around so much, they didn’t have much opportunity to teach him certain things. It makes Jerry a little different; Dean isn’t against it, but he thinks it. But clearly, he’s overstepped, and he’s hurt the kid’s feelings. 

“Jerry, this is silly, alright?” Dean says, and steps close to him.

“It’s not silly,” Jerry says, not budging, “You think I’m just… What? That I don’t have any agency, or something? I’m your girlfriend, your wife? I don’t see what it is you think of me.”

“I don’t think that, you know I don’t,” Dean says, “Just forget it, alright Jer?”

“You’re just like I am, you know,” Jerry says, “Don’t think you’re any different for a minute, Paul.”

But I am different, Dean thinks, I can’t do everything the way you do, Jer. But he doesn’t say anything like that, because he doesn’t want to worsen the situation more than it already is.

“Jerry,” Dean says, again, “Let’s not fight. I like you, pal, and I’m not sore with you.”

Jerry looks like he’s going to say something else, but then he breathes out.

“Okay, bubbe,” he says.

Dean wraps up Jerry in his arms, real tight. He hugs him and he kisses him on the cheek. Jerry nuzzles his face in Dean’s neck, and Dean feels the kid shake a little. He’s crying, Dean realizes, so he keeps holding him. He doesn’t say anything, just hopes Jerry gets out whatever it is. He doesn’t get how he upset the kid so much, he can’t think of anything anybody could possibly say that would make him cry like this. But Dean supposes that’s just Jerry; that’s just how he is. In a lineup of men, Dean would fit right in, and Jerry just wouldn’t. He doesn’t know what Jerry means, saying that Dean’s no different than him.

After what feels like a hundred years, Dean feels Jerry’s hand resting on his back slide off; he feels Jerry pull his face out of his neck. Jerry’s eyes are wet and red, but he’s not crying anymore. The kid smiles at him all goofy and touches his fingers to the red lipstick mark emblazoned on his own cheek.

“You got lipstick on me, bubbe,” Jerry says, and the way he says it sounds like he’s in love; there’s no better way to explain the feeling coming through his tone.

“Sorry, pal,” Dean says and reaches to wipe it off, but Jerry slaps his hand away.

“You silly man,” Jerry pouts at him, “I like when you kiss me, do it on the lips this time.”

So Dean does; he cups Jerry’s face in his big hand, and presses his mouth gently onto his boy’s. He kisses him sweet, until Jerry slips his tongue in. Dean puts his hands on the kid’s waist and pulls him close; their hips touch, and Jerry lets out a sound that turns into a vibration when it goes into Dean’s mouth. Jerry feels so good, even though Dean thinks he could use a meal, and it makes him forgot about everything from the little bust up to the caterpillar eyebrows.

At least for now.


	2. the sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Dean talk, man to man

“Sometimes, I wish I had a pal like you got,” Frank says to Dean.

They’re in The Sands, drinking Martinis. Frank’s leaning his chair back a little, so it stands on two legs. He does it every time he has too much to drink.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, and Frank shuts his bright blue eyes to take a lengthy drag from his cigarette before he responds.

“I always fight with dames,” Frank says, blowing out smoke, “They always have to have a problem with something I’m getting into. I wish I had someone how you have Jerry, but I don’t feel how you do about fellas.”

“Well, you know how Jerry is,” Dean says, “We don’t have bust ups, but he’s not most men.”

“No, he’s definitely not,” Frank agrees, “He’s not so much like us, he’s more, uh…”

Frank trails off. He’s too drunk to say what he means, so he flicks his hand in the air, twisting his wrist around a couple of times.

“Yeah, that,” Dean laughs.

“Well,” Frank’s lips crook into a smile, “At least you two make nice, it makes me jealous.”

“We did have one little bust-up, once,” Dean says, “And, it was actually about the topic of Jer… You know, being like you said.”

Frank raises his eyebrows, “Really? What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, Jer likes being funny. So we were, uh...” Dean isn’t going to fess up to letting Jerry put makeup on him; the idea of Frank knowing that makes shame curl in his stomach, “You know. Messing around, doing some silly shit in a dressing room, and I made some off hand comment about how he’s different than me. Because he likes doing things that broads do, and he acts sorta like one sometimes, but, you know, I wasn’t calling him a broad. I wasn’t even so overt about it; I didn’t say ‘You act like a woman, Jer,’ you know, I don’t think he’s a broad or anything. He’s just a little different, that’s how I see it. Well, my point-- I didn’t really do anything to him.”

Dean pauses to take a sip of his drink, and sees that Frank’s not leaning back on the chair anymore; his elbows are resting on the table, and his sharp blue eyes are full of interest, “Go on, Dino.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, “He got really uptight. Asking me if I think he’s my wife, my girlfriend, all this, you know, he’s really upset about it. It wasn’t minor, he seemed pretty upset.”

“I don’t get it,” Frank says, “How do you figure that? You didn’t call him a woman?”

“No, I didn’t,” Dean says, “I said he was different than me, and different from most men, and he’s upset. Anyway, then he tells me that I’m different, too, just like him. Then we made up, and stopped talking about it. So it wasn’t a big deal.”

“What did he mean, saying you were different like him?” Frank asks, “That just ain’t true, Dino.”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs, “I know. I figure he was talking like that because I made him sore.”

“I know you go to all this effort to say Jerry’s not all too much like a broad, but I figure it different than you,” Frank says.

“Yeah?” Dean asks.

“Look, Jer’s a pal. Great kid, and everything, and sure better to be around than dames,” Frank says, “And it’s not impossible for him to play macho, but he’s the woman.”

“He’s the woman?” Dean repeats, questioning.

“Yeah, you’re the man,” Frank says, “You ever look at that face in the mirror, Dino? I don’t know where Jerry was coming from with ‘you’re different just how I am,’ ‘cause you really ain’t.”

“I know,” Dean says, taking another big sip of his drink and finishing out the glass.

Dean waves the waiter over to order another Martini, and Frank, drunk as he is, has the sense to keep his mouth shut about the topic they’re discussing. It’s to the point where all three of them; Frank, of course, but Dean and Jerry, too, are too well known to the world to be too loud about something like this. What’s more, if Frank and Dean were sober, they wouldn’t even dream of talking about this out in the open, but with the bustle of people constantly flowing through The Sands, it wasn’t really an issue; they were covered by the amount of sound. The waiter returns soon, Dean’s drink in hand, then leaves them in silence.

Frank talks first, saying, “Yeah. I mean, one look at that kid’s face and you know he takes it.”

“Pal,” Dean says, jokingly, “Shut up.”

“What, you’re saying it’s not true?” Frank grins broadly-- Dean can see he’s just trying to egg him on, because Frank’s got this funny habit of treating all his friends like their personal lives are Page Six news-- and he adds, not so loud that Dean loses it from the sheer embarrassment, “Lotsa broads aren’t even so crazy about cock, you know; they just want the closeness, but one look at your pal, paesano, and you can see… I can see the glint in his eye, Dino.”

“Fuck you, Francis,” Dean says, but he’s trying not to laugh; he feels giddy, on top of the world.

Dean can’t explain it; he knows Frank isn’t trying to build him up or anything. Frank’s just being Frank. He’s just being a difficult asshole on purpose, and Dean knows he shouldn’t let him talk about his boy like this. If it was anyone other than Frank, Dean would’ve broken his jaw, but Frank likes Jerry. He’s not really insulting him; Dean knows Jerry wouldn’t like what he was saying all so much, but it doesn’t matter because he isn’t here. Besides, Jerry’s little comment about Dean being just the same as him had grown into a big garden of a thought in his mind over the last couple of days. Dean knew it wasn’t true, right? So why was he so bothered? But here was Frank, telling him it wasn’t. Telling him he was the man; Jerry’s the woman. Jerry’s different, not him. Of course. Dean feels real stupid for letting Jer’s comment bother him.

Dean opens his mouth, debating what to say to continue the conversation without stepping into Frank’s classic territory of manipulating you ‘til you tell him everything there is to know about your sex life, but, luckily, Frank’s gotten distracted.

“Ehi, paesano, look at those dames,” Frank whispers, very loudly, grabbing Dean’s shoulder with one hand, and gesticulating at a pair of very refined looking women, “Let’s go talk to them.”

“They don’t look like they’d like you,” Dean teases, as Frank pulls him out of his seat, “On account of the fact that you look like an idiot.”

“Shut up, Dino,” Frank laughs, “Takes one to know one.”


	3. dinner party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean & Jeanne and Patti & Jerry have a very fraught dinner party.

“Patti,” Dean says, shoveling spaghetti into his mouth, “This is real good.” 

“Thanks, Dean,” Patti smiles and the area around her eyes wrinkles up; it looks sweet, Dean sees why Jerry likes her. 

“Patti’s Italian food’s the best,” Jerry says, “Finest in the land. But, this is the point of marrying an Italian, after all.” 

Patti’s laughing, and she places a well-manicured hand on Jerry’s shoulder. Jerry’s looking at Dean; his eyes full of intention, like he’s trying to tell him he knows he’s married to an Italian, twice over. Jerry’s got a unique opportunity, Dean thinks, he gets to be a husband and almost a wife, too. He almost laughs at the idea, but restrains himself, because his Jeannie is talking, and he always wants to listen to her. 

“I married an Italian, too, but it hasn’t done me much in the food department,” Jeanne says, and Dean looks down at her, seeing the light glint off her golden hair. 

“Ehi, watch yourself, sweetheart,” Dean says jokingly, wrapping an arm around Jeanne’s trim shoulders, pulling her close, “I’m trying.”

Dean kisses the top of Jeanne’s head, then looks up at Jerry. Jerry’s brow is furrowed; he’s looking at Jeanne, then flicking the gaze up to Dean before his poor wife can notice. Jerry’s eyes are filled with what Dean has come to know as jealousy; Dean doesn’t know what to do with this sort of thing. It’s been happening since he met Jeannie, but it hasn’t mellowed with time. Instead, Jerry’s said less, almost like he’s given up, but his eyes show it all. God, Dean wishes his boy would let it go. He’s always grappling with these silly feelings, with Jeanne and with Jerry. Two J’s, see that’s almost funny. Jerry tells Dean that he doesn’t need Jeanne; Jeannie tells him that it hurts her that Jerry— your best friend, she calls him— doesn’t like her, and she’s his wife, and that should mean something. He’s had to tell Jer off for calling his wife “that broad” as if she’s not his wife so many times. And so many tears, from both of them. What does a man do with all this? 

But, God, yes, it’s a “mitzvah” as Jerry would say, but is it worth it? Dean asks himself this a thousand times over, and the answer is always yes. Yes, love is worth a lot of things, and besides, it doesn’t hurt Dean as much as it hurts Jerry and Jeanne. But it’s not his fault either of them take it so hard; it’s just in their nature to be like this, but it’s not in Dean’s, so it’s not so difficult for him. He swears it’s not. 

“Dean,” Patti says, and Dean doesn’t immediately respond because he’s thinking. 

“Hey, Dean!” Jerry says, in his Idiot voice. 

Dean jumps, and Patti and Jeanne laugh; Jerry’s putting on the Idiot voice, sure, but Dean’s the one acting like one. Dean laughs, too; he shouldn’t be overthinking these conflicts, instead, he can just enjoy himself. He’s with the people nearest and dearest to him, after all; one can’t always expect perfection. Life’s not perfect for anyone. 

“What is it, Patti?” Dean says, in his Cary Grant voice, “What would you like?” 

Patti’s mouth twitches up in a half smile, but Jerry laughs. Really laughs, and that’s what Dean wanted; Jerry loves the Cary Grant voice, and Dean loves seeing the kid laugh. He knows his pal is always trying to make him crack up during their performances, but he doubts Jer even knows how hard Dean tries to do the same. 

“I’m about to bring out the dessert,” Patti says, “Everyone else here has already said they want some, but you were 20,000 leagues under the sea.” 

“Sorry,” Dean says, “Of course I want dessert.” 

“Hey, alright,” Patti says. 

She pushes out her chair and stands, stroking her hands over the fabric of her rayon skirt to flatten it out. He remembers Jer showing him the skirt in a magazine before buying it for her for her birthday; he’d asked him what he thought of it, and Dean said it would look pretty on her. Patti’s always beautiful, Dean said, and Jerry raised his eyebrows and told him not to get fresh with his wife. Dean had laughed, and Jerry looked self-satisfied beyond belief. Patti leaves for the kitchen, and is back soon with a steaming hot apple pie. 

“That looks great, pussycat,” Jerry says, looking at the pie with glistening eyes; Dean’s glad it’s a day off, so the kid won’t be so overcome by nerves that he can’t even eat it. 

Patti cuts the pie into big, appetizing slices and loads them one by one onto all of their plates. There’s a few minutes of silence as they eat; God, it is delicious. 

“Can I get the recipe for this?” Jeannie inquires, breaking the silence, “I never have been able to make a pie this good.” 

“It’s Patti’s special touch,” Jerry says, and Dean gives him a warning look; his boy shrinks a little under the rare harsh stare from his partner. 

“Of course,” Patti says, deliberately ignoring her husband’s snarky utterance, “I’ll write it down for you before you two leave; just remind me again, okay?” 

Jeanne nods, and Dean feels the need to diffuse the tension building in the air. 

“It’s real hard to make a pie, honestly,” Dean says, “I tried to help my mother make one once and I managed to ruin it.” 

“I’m getting a bit of a sense that you’re incapable at making any sort of food,” Patti says, and Dean laughs at this, but then becomes completely silent at what she adds afterwards. “It’s a shame Jerry’s other wife can’t cook.” 

Jeanne laughs. Dean feels like he’s been punched directly in the solar plexus; any feeling of physical discomfort he had boxing doesn’t match up to this. 

“His other wife?” Dean repeats, slowly, like he’s reading to his littlest kid.

“Aw, she’s just kidding, Paul,” Jer says, gently, and now he’s trying to diffuse too; Dean can see that. 

“Sorry,” Dean says, trying to cover up his immediate reaction, not wanting to appear overly emotional; not wanting to give himself away, “I guess we are real close.” 

“Yeah,” Patti says, smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “I was just joking about that; you two spend a lot of time together, you know.” 

Jeanne doesn’t say anything; Dean doesn’t think she gets it. But why would she get what’s going on? She’s the same age as Jerry is, but with a more positive outlook on the world. Every time Dean looks at Patti, he thinks maybe she knows more than she’ll say; she’s older, almost his own age, and she’s been married before. His Jeannie isn’t a stupid woman, but she doesn’t have the kind of life experience Patti has. 

Dean feels sick with humiliation; Jerry’s other wife. Where does this come from? He feels so punished and he feels ill. He doesn’t want to eat any more food, and he wants to drive away with no explanation and not come back for the rest of the night. He’s no broad, he’s not the type to take it from another fella. He’s the man here; he’s the man with Jerry, too. Jerry’s not even saying anything, which riles him up even more; Jer’s just eating his pie. That’s right, Dean thinks, eat your pie and go fuck your wife tonight and put on a show. Stupid boy.

Dean excuses himself to go to the bathroom; Jerry looks at him when he stands up, and he doesn’t think Jerry even knows why he’s upset. Dean feels so old, and yet so stupid. So stupid, and so demeaned. Shame curls in his stomach as he shuts the door behind him, sits down on the shut lid of the toilet and buries his face in his big hands. He’s no woman, he’s nobody’s wife, especially not to a skinny boy who’s been taking it from him for years. His chest feels like it’s going to burst open into a thousand different pieces that can’t even be reassembled by this country’s greatest forensic team, and yet, the idea of crying doesn’t even occur to him. He’s so, so angry. Much too angry to really even think. 

Dean’s jolted out of his stupor by a knock on the door. 

“What?” He asks, “I’m using the toilet.” 

The door opens a little, and he sits up, quick, but it’s just his Jeannie, and he’s so relieved.

“Are you alright?” She asks, “You ran off real fast.” 

Jeanne’s voice is so gentle, so soft, and Dean’s so embarrassed that she can even tell that he’s upset. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart, I just had a little too much to drink,” Dean lies, “I really do have to use the bathroom, I’m just getting my bearings.” 

“Oh,” Jeanne says, and after a flicker of doubt, it looks to him like she decides to believe what he’s saying to her, “Okay, well, will you be able to drive us home?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Don’t worry, Jeannie, I’ll sober up enough to drive safe before we leave. I love you, but I really gotta pee, and I don’t want for you to watch, so can you go?” 

Jeanne laughs; it’s like a bell. He likes making her laugh almost as much as he likes making Jerry laugh. 

“Of course, I’ll give you some privacy; I was just checking up,” Jeanne says, smiling, “I love you too, Dino.” 

He smiles at her. She shuts the door. He can hear her footsteps as she walks away, and he thinks the idea of him being Jerry’s wife is laughable; Jerry, who’s so different than him, Jerry who cries readily, Jerry who’s jealous of Jeannie, Jerry… Dean doesn’t see that construction easily at all. He decides he’s best off brushing it off. He stands up from his seat on the toilet’s lid, but then he realizes that he really does need to go to the bathroom. He might as well do it, since he’s already in there anyway.


	4. lunch with frank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years after Jerry and Dean have stopped speaking, Frank gives Dean a lot of unsolicited love life advice, then tries to convince him to rekindle things with his old pal on the MDA telethon.

“I really don’t know what motivated you to marry some other broad when you were still in love with the first one,” Frank is saying, and Dean finds the running commentary on his life distinctly irritating at this second. 

“Can’t you ever just let a man eat his side salad peacefully?” Dean inquires, shoving a forkful of lettuce into his mouth to punctuate what he’s saying. 

“Just fucking eat it, paesano, I’m not stopping you,” Frank retorts, “Anyway, why would you do that?”

“Company,” Dean says, shrugging, “It’s nice. I don’t like to be alone so much.” 

Dean’s lonely, all the time, though, with Catherine. And the relationship’s falling apart. She’s not stupid, she knows Dean misses Jeanne, and that the wish for Jeanne’s presence hasn’t lessened over time. 

“Poor Dino,” Frank says, using his fork with a piece of steak on it to gesticulate at his pal for effect, “You wear your heart on your sleeve. These dames don’t have to know what you really feel, paesano. Everyone knows who you are, and you can have whatever you want.” 

“What do I get from pretending I’m so much more excited than I am, though, Frank?” Dean asks, “Tell me that, if you’ve got an answer that can help me out. Maybe you do.” 

“You get sex,” Frank says, as if it’s the revelation of the century.

“Alright,” Dean says, putting his fork down; the side salad will have to wait, “First of all, like you said, everyone knows who I am. I can get any broad to sleep with me whether I like her or not, so you know I don’t have to pretend to be so interested. Secondly, I’m married to this woman. She’s going to sleep with me, Frank, no matter what it is that I do. What’s wrong with you?” 

“I wish you’d start eating your side salad again,” Frank says, “That’s what’s wrong with me.”

Dean laughs, and takes a bite of the salad, then another, “Happy, idiot?” 

“I never heard you go off like that in my life, Dino,” Frank said, cutting another piece of steak and putting it in his mouth, “You really ain’t feeling good with that woman, paesano, huh?” 

“No,” Dean says, “I am not. This is what I’ve been trying to explain for the past thirty minutes to you, pal.” 

“Alright, alright,” Frank says, “Get a drink and calm down.” 

“I’ve had 4,” Dean says, “You don’t pay attention to the external world?” 

Frank laughs, then adds, “Okay, you just need some good news. Something that’ll make you feel better for sure, yeah?” 

“I’m not sure what you could possibly tell me that would be that way, but go ahead,” Dean says. 

Thank God Dean’s almost done with his salad, because what Frank says is the last thing he’s expecting; it’s warm out and they’re eating outside, watching people bustle by the outdoor tables down the Vegas strip. He thinks Frank’ll suggest something typically-Frank; something like a whorehouse or a new bar where they can get so drunk that they stagger home and don’t wake up all night. And then get yelled at in the morning by their wives. 

“Well, paesano,” Frank says, “I think that it’s about time you bury some old feelings.” 

“We’ve talked about this, pal,” Dean says, “I already told you I can’t stop loving Jeanne. I don’t have control over that.” 

“Dino, that ain’t what I was gonna say, so do you want to shut up so you can hear?” Frank says, and Dean sighs. 

“Sorry,” Dean says, “I’m listening.”

“Alright,” Frank begins, and Dean is really listening now, because for once in years, he has no idea what Frank’s about to say, “I have this great idea. Remember your old pal Jerry?” 

Frank only pauses long enough for Dean to think for a few seconds, but that time stretches out like taffy before him. It’s almost laughable; of course Dean remembers Jerry. It’s like the facets of a lost part of his life flash in front of his eyes; Jerry in his arms (too scrawny, his poor boy), the back of Jerry’s head in front of him in the bar the split second before Dean broke that anti-Jewish bastard’s jaw for talking to Jer like that, Jerry’s legs silhouetted against the setting sun through one of their hotel room windows the first time they did it, and Jerry’s poor round eyes filling up with tears when Dean told him he was just a dollar sign to him. God. Yes, he remembers his old pal. 

“How could I forget him?” Dean asks, before Frank can continue. 

“Yeah, that’d be a little hard; you knew him a little too well for that sort of thing to go away completely,” Frank says knowingly, and Dean gives him a dirty look; Frank persists, “Anyway, you know I’m going on his telethon. Why don’t you come on and surprise him, paesano? Might be a nice change of landscape for you.” 

“Frank,” Dean says, “I hate to be rude, but have you lost your fucking mind? What is this idea?” 

“Dino,” Frank pushes, “You want to see Jer, don’t you? You always loved him, too.” 

“You’re pushing it,” Dean murmurs, “Besides, I don’t know what you’re thinking; you know that boy doesn’t like surprises. He’s never liked them.” 

That boy. Dean can’t help thinking of Jer as the kid, his boy, even though Jerry hasn’t been anything but a grown man for years. And he hasn’t been Dean’s for a long time, either. 

“Dino,” Frank says, a rare seriousness in his eyes, “I know him, too. You’re not the only one who knows him.” 

“I know him better,” Dean says, “And you know this just as well as you know how to sing.” 

Frank leans back into his chair, getting comfortable; he’s finished his steak. 

“Paesano, listen, and really think about the idea of seeing him again,” Frank says, “I just want the best for my old pal. Just remember, Dino, just because I haven’t screwed him doesn’t mean I’m so stupid that I can pretend he ain’t still in love with you.” 

Dean cocks his head and looks at Frank, almost like he’s going to joke, but this is really too important. Jerry’s so different now. Maybe he really can do it; maybe he can see him. Jerry’s a man, now, and he can’t be attracted to that; it might be easy to go and see him on his telethon, he thinks. Easy. Just friends, now, really friends. And Dean is curious to see his pal again; his old pal who he hasn’t spoken to in years. 

“I’ll think about it, Frank,” Dean says, knowing already he’s going to do it, “I’ll think about it and let you know.” 

Frank nods serenely, “Alright, great, Dino. Now please finish up your last two bites of salad so we can split this joint. Get moving to something else.” 

“Pain in the ass,” Dean says, and digs the fork into the remaining lettuce. 

Dean tries to tell himself he’s doing this because he wants to do it for his old friend Frank, but he can’t. So, tries to tell himself that he’s at least going to do it out of some old commitment to his Jerry, but he can’t do that, either. His resolve is weakening; it’s normal to become gentler as you get older, yeah? Dean’s lonely, and Dean wants to see Jerry again; he’s doing this for himself. There, okay, but it’s because he’s curious, really, because it’s been so long. And because he’s bored, and because there’s nothing better to do. Not because he misses Jerry dearly and deeply, and not because he wants, maybe even, to make up for lost time. 

Right? 

Right; maybe he’s willing to close old rifts, but he’s no sentimental broad. He’s still a man. Anyway, Dean’s done with his salad, so it’s time for him and Frank to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing that side salad subplot took a lot out of me


	5. the reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the MDA telethon, Dean sees his partner again, and realizes some things; they spend some time together.

Dean straightens his bow tie. He’s really going to do this, huh? He’s really going to see Jerry again, and on live TV, no less. He picks up his drink from the table next to the mirror and takes a sip of it; he’s lost track of how many he’s had, unfortunately. He’d told Frank when he had come to check on him that’d this would be fine; Dean watches Jerry’s MDA telethon every year with his kids and he’s not hot for Jerry anymore; he swears he’s not. Jerry’s filled out, grown up, butched up; he’s a lot different than he was when he and Dean were so close. The same thing that always drove Jerry— the factor that made him different— was still there, but it was obscured by the multitude of additional elements that now made Jer up. 

Yeah, Frank had asked Dean how many drinks he’d had after he’d justified this to him. Three, Dean had told him, and Frank raised an eyebrow. Okay, he’d told Dean, well, there are a lot of potential reasons to have nerves, paesano.

Dean can’t be attracted to this older Jerry with his deep voice, authority, big hands, and capability to gaze upon you through the TV with sharp judgement and hostility. Dean can’t be attracted to Jerry who can play nothing but a plainly stated, straight up man; Dean’s only drinking so much because he’s nervous about surprising him. And he’s intimidated by him; Jerry’s his equal, now, and Jerry’s going to size him up. And he still doesn’t believe Frank’s posturing from last month’s lunch; Dean knows Jerry doesn’t like to be surprised, even if it’s by him. What’s more, Dean doesn’t really know if Jerry wants to see him again; after their break up, Dean didn’t see why Jer ever would. 

Shit, it’s his cue. Dean staggers out of the dressing room and tries to swing himself into a more confident swagger. Everyone and their mother is going to know he’s drunk, but it’s too late at this point to care; it’s far from the first time he’s been drunk on live TV anyway. He’s overthinking everything right about now, isn’t he? The nerves won’t go away no matter what he tries to do to stave them off, and he’s starting to think that maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. Walking down the hallway to the stage feels like the river in that book about the people travelling deep into the jungle; the one with the awful sense of dread. Dean’s never read it, and he’s too drunk to remember what it’s called. He’s not a big reader, but he knows the book’s important; Jerry talked his ear off about it once, calling it a masterpiece and all that. Jerry, the cause of all his nerves.

The sound of the audience gets closer with every step, and when Dean steps onto the stage, everything is a blur, as cliche as it sounds. He sees Frank, and he’s a welcome sight, because he sees him so much; and then, oh God, he sees Jerry and Jerry looks at him, and the world stops spinning on its axis. 

Seeing Jerry now makes Dean see a lot of things. Jerry’s not a broad, Jerry’s not the woman in the relationship, Jerry’s a man, and, God, Dean was lying to himself, and to Frank, if he thought he wasn’t going to be attracted to his boy anymore. Because he is. Jerry’s expression when he sees Dean is indescribable; he’s angry, absolutely livid, and then he’s thrilled beyond belief. Dean feels something in his heart pull in a way it’s never pulled before, but when he embraces Jer, he can tell his old pal is just as high on something-- probably pills-- as Dean’s drunk. It makes his chest hurt, to think that. So much has changed, Dean thought before, but now he thinks, maybe this is how it’s been all along. 

A long time ago, in what felt like it could be a different lifetime, Dean sat at a table with Frank in The Sands, shooting the shit and telling him that Jerry was different than him, that Jer was different than other men. And even before that, Dean thought Jerry couldn’t have fit into a lineup of men, without sticking out. Dean, as he’s in Jerry’s arms, feels so much shame, again, shame like he felt in the bathroom when he lied to his Jeannie, and shame like he felt seeing himself in all that makeup; but, this time, he feels something else, too. With that shame, there’s love, and the two walk hand in hand, like he’s been walking with Jerry, who’s always been a man, just like him, he realizes, the entire time. And, Dean supposes, if this makes Jerry different, Frank was wrong, and Patti was right; he, Dino, Paul, Dean? He’s just the same as Jerry is, whatever that is. He hates that, but even though Jerry’s no skinny kid anymore, Dean loves him just the same.

Maybe Dean could cry about that. He still isn’t sure he could take it that far, but it seems plausible. There would’ve been a time where Dean would’ve thought that was bad, but maybe it’s not so bad; he’s raised his own kids in a different way than his parents raised him. Sure, none of Dean’s kids are quite how he is, but that’s because he’s different; he’s different than other men, too. He feels safe in Jerry’s embrace; his boy, well, fella, Dean guesses, then is bolder: his man. That’s what Jerry is to him, and to everyone, and what he’s always been. And out of the two of them, Dean’s been the Idiot all along. Jerry may have played it all, and may have showed it all, but that doesn’t make Dean more of a man than him. The rift is drawn closer. Jerry lets go of him, and Dean can see that he’s happy; Dean’s happy, too.

After the telethon, Jerry finds Dean backstage, not the other way around, and Dean takes a little step in the right direction; he doesn’t let himself feel bad about this. He’s not so drunk anymore, and he thinks Jerry might be sobering up, too, because his partner’s eyes are sparkling. 

“Paul,” Jerry says, “I missed you so much, all this time.” 

“I missed you too,” Dean says, and he sees a single tear run down Jerry’s cheek; Jerry lifts up his pinky-ring decorated hand and wipes it away, smiling wetly at Dean. 

“I want you should hold me again,” Jerry says, his voice low, “I want you should hold me, and then I’d cry on you. Isn’t that so stupid, bubbe?” 

Dean shakes his head and means it. 

“I think,” Dean responds, “There’s only one issue with that which is that I’d cry, too.” 

Jerry cocks his head, “You mean it?” 

“I do,” Dean says, then adds, unabashedly, “I care for you, so much, Jer.” 

The rift closes completely. The edges seal together.

“I grew up,” Jerry says, “I hope it doesn’t put you off, bubbe.” 

“It doesn’t,” Dean says, and he means it, “I thought maybe it would, but I think I grew up too.”

“Yeah,” Jerry says, “I think you did. So handsome, though, always.” 

Jerry’s reaching out, cupping Dean’s face in his hand, and Dean misses this too much to care. But the swarm of people around them hides them; they’re lost in the crowd. Dean turns his face so his nose bumps against Jer’s fingers. He kisses the inside of his partner’s hand, where no one can see, but Jerry can certainly feel. 

“Oh,” Jerry says softly, “Oh, Paul.” 

Dean closes his eyes; they feel warm and wet. Fuck, he’s crying, only a little, but the feeling of Jerry’s hand still connecting to his face— a beacon of sweet warmth— outweighs the shame. Jerry is a lot of things, Dean thinks, but he’d never think poorly of Dean for doing this. Dean thinks: Would I think poorly of my son for doing this? No, so why should I feel so ashamed of myself? It doesn’t negate the shame, but it distances him from it, and softens it. Maybe he should let himself be a little more gentle. 

“Poor bubbe,” Jerry says, and Dean opens his eyes; Jerry’s smiling at him, but his hazel eyes are wet, too, “C’mere.”

Dean lets Jerry hold him. Warm boy, he thinks. It’s nice, nice to be held. It’s nice to be cared for, it’s nice to be loved; we all want it. 

“Paul,” Jerry says, a hint of desperation underlying what he says, “Come back to my room with me.” 

“I can’t, Jer,” Dean whispers, “You’re not a kid anymore.”

“You know the day after the break up I cried my way through traffic at the wheel of my car; I could barely see, I could’ve crashed,” Jerry says, “I don’t want we should miss out on one more second; can you please just do this one thing for me?” 

“Jer,” Dean says, about to say no again; then he realizes, it’s not logical, it’s no different between them then it ever was. 

“You owe it to me,” Jerry says.

“Yeah, I do, don’t I?” Dean says, then pulls away, putting his hands on Jerry’s now-broader shoulders, “What’s more, I want to go, too. So we will.” 

“No, because I want to, we will,” Jerry says, and, damn it, he knows everything, doesn’t he? 

He’s challenging Dean; Dean’s at a crossroads, and he needs to go the right way. He looks Jerry in the eyes; he knows what to do, no matter how hard it might be to face this head on. He’s going to take it— all of it; the feelings, the love, the shame, and his partner— like a man. He’ll do what Jerry wants. 

“Let’s go, pal,” Dean says. 

“Oh, alright, bubbe,” Jerry grins, “Let me get my warm jacket, and then we’ll go.” 

Dean watches Jerry walk off, and he knows he’ll wait for him. He doesn’t know what’ll happen at the hotel room, whether they’ll talk, or whether there’ll be more, but he does know that he’ll always wait for Jerry, and that maybe that can help make some of these problems a little better at least. 

Dean almost jumps at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, and he turns around; it’s just Frank. 

“See, I told you I was right, paesano,” Frank says, grinning at him. 

“Shut up,” Dean says, not meanly, craning his neck to look at the way Jerry’s shoulders look, shoved into his fitted suit jacket; he likes it. 

“Is he coming back?” Frank asks, “That was a lot of hugging and holding, is that it, or is there more?” 

“Francis.” Dean says, and Frank laughs, so Dean adds, even though it makes him feel a little embarrassed, but Frank’s his friend so he shouldn't care, “I’m going back to his room with him; he’s getting his jacket.” 

Jerry’s pulling the jacket down from the rack now, and his scarf, too. It’s a red scarf, the one that Patti made him years ago; it makes Dean smile. 

“Oh,” Frank says, knowingly, smirking, “Well, alright. You get you some, Dino.”

“If you ever die and it’s not because one of those poor broads killed you,” Dean says, not all too meanly, “It’ll be because I did.” 

“Well, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, paesano,” Frank says, affectionately rubbing his hand on Dean’s upper back, “Alright. I’ll see you afterwards, when you tell me all about you and your old pal, even with that added threat.” 

“Alright, Frank,” Dean says, and his friend starts to walk off, so he adds, “Hey, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Frank’s mouth tilts up in a small smile, and he salutes Dean jokingly. 

Frank disappears off into the crowd, and Jerry, in his warm coat, with his scarf around his neck, is coming back. 

“You didn’t bring a jacket?” Jerry asks, once he’s within hearing distance of Dean. 

“No,” Dean says. 

“Silly boy,” Jerry says in his girl voice, clicking his tongue, then adds, “Won’t you be cold?” 

Dean probably will be cold, but this is such a golden opportunity. 

He smiles at Jerry, and flicks his eyes up and down his partner’s frame. 

“I don’t think so, somehow,” Dean says. 

—

In the hotel room, Jerry hangs his warm coat and scarf in the closet after they get through the door. Being in here with Jerry is like a blast from the past, as cliche as it sounds; Dean looks around at how neat the room is and thinks, God, I did miss him. 

“Bubbe,” Jerry says, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it up next to the warm coat and scarf, “I’m so sweaty, I’m going to take a shower, alright?” 

“That’s what you get for wearing your warm coat,” Dean ribs. 

Jerry laughs, and the sound makes Dean feel really genuinely happy. It’s so welcome, after all this time. 

“I’ll be back in a minute, just feel free to get relaxed,” Jerry says, kicking off his shoes, loosening his tie… then he walks to the bathroom. 

Jerry shuts the door behind him, and soon, Dean hears the shower start up. He takes off his own jacket, his own bowtie, then sits down on the chair to untie and pull off his shoes. Dean unbuttons his shirt a few buttons and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it. God, he thinks, it’s nice to be back. Alone, though, he has a moment of reckoning; if Jerry comes out, and something, you know, starts to happen between them, how will it be, now that the kid’s grown up? Dean supposes he’s already here, and he should accept it as it comes. Or, at least he’ll try. 

Eventually, Dean hears Jerry turn the shower off, and there’s a quiet interlude, and then the door opens, and Jerry steps out with the towel wrapped around his waist; Dean finally gets a look at what he’s dealing with here in all its glory. Jerry’s chest still is carpeted with hair how it always was, but his shoulders are so much broader, and there’s added muscle and weight. He’s not too skinny, he looks strong. Gone is the narrow, tapered waist, the near-concave stomach; again, Dean is struck by how little difference lies between him and his Jer. He’s clearly taken his rings and bracelet off for the shower; he’s left them in the jewelry box in the bathroom, Dean’s sure, why would this change? 

“Someone’s looking,” Jerry says, sing-songy, “You want I should do something, bubbe?” 

“I’m just thinking about,” Dean’s about to say, how different you look now, but that’s not what he’s trying to say, is it? “How good you look.”

Jerry smiles at him, “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I really do, c’mere.”

Dean stands, wanting to embrace Jerry again, but Jerry puts a hand on his chest, stopping him from coming any closer. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jerry says, “This isn’t fair, let’s get some of these clothes off you before you get fresh, bubbe.”

“Oh, God damn it,” Dean says, but it really is only fair. 

He lets Jerry’s nimble fingered hands lift up his wrists and pull out his cuff links. He lets Jerry unbutton his shirt, button by button. He lets Jerry drop his suit pants to the floor, pull off his undershirt, and brush a flyaway strand of hair behind his ear. It makes him feel embarassed, but he lets him do it. Shame nonwithstanding, Dean feels a little excited, too. 

“Wow,” Jerry says, “You keep this physique up.” 

Dean laughs, because of course he does. Jerry runs his hands over Dean’s stomach and chest, bringing them to rest on the muscular shoulders for a moment, then running one up the back of Dean’s neck. 

“Kiss me,” Dean says and means it. 

Jerry blinks, then leans in, and finally, finally they’re really back together. Jerry’s lips are soft, as always, and Dean knows, whatever happens tonight, that it will have been worth feeling his partner’s hands on him like this. He’s not letting Jerry get away again.


	6. dean and jeanne watch tv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Jeanne, after they reconcile, spend some time together; Dean talks to Jerry.

Dean’s arm is around his Jeannie, and they’re sitting on the couch in his house, watching the telethon together. Jeanne won’t marry him again, but at least she’ll be with him; every time she’s there, things feel how they were before. Warm, comfortable, good… He wonders how he got her to agree to watch Jerry for hours, but he suspects it’s because, even if you’re angry with him, he’s still funny. Dean would know from personal experience. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Dean says, and Jeanne kisses his cheek gently. 

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” she replies, and cuddles up impossibly closer to his side.

For some reason, Dean wishes Jer were here, too; not just on the TV, but really there. Maybe he and Jeannie could make nice— it’s been so long, after all. But he doesn’t say it, and he knows he’s going to call Jerry after Jeanne goes home, since they talk, really talk, nearly every day, now. Since Dean’s son died, the two of them have been beacons of light; Dean’s weary, but he’s here, and so are the two of them. He feels so old. 

“You know,” Jeanne says, “I’ve forgiven him. Jerry, I mean.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, perking up. 

“Yeah,” Jeanne says, tipping her pretty face to look up at him, “He was just a kid; he was just jealous, because he loved you so much, and who could blame him— I loved you too.” 

She says it all in the past tense, Dean thinks, and feels like his life is gone. There would’ve been a time where he wouldn’t have mentioned this crushing feeling, but so much has happened in his life now, that there’s more important factors than emotional shame; he’s driven a stake into its heart. 

“Loved?” Dean asks, pushes, “Not, you know, still?”

“Oh, Dino,” his Jeannie says, “I didn’t mean it like that; things change, but I misspoke— I love you just as much as ever.”

Dean smiles, and tears prickle to the surface. They don’t flow down his face; he squeezes his eyes shut. He’s cried a lot more since his son died, but that’s okay; it’s justified. 

“I love you, too,” Dean says. 

“I know,” Jeanne replies, then adds, “That’s part of why it’s so easy to forgive Jerry for being so difficult all those years ago.”

Dean feels like his heart’s being squeezed out like a wet rag before being hung to dry, so he adds a joke to try and lighten the mood, “You’re just making all the amends you need to get into Heaven, aren’t you, Jeannie?” 

She laughs. 

“I’m not that old yet, Dean,” Jeanne says, “Don’t push it.” 

—  
At the end of the night, Dean asks Jeanne to stay, as he always does. 

“You know I can’t do that, Dean,” she says, wrapping her fur coat around herself, slipping the big, wooden buttons through the holes with delicacy. 

She’s always been so much stronger than him, Dean thinks. If she asked him to stay, he would; not because he loves her more than she loves him, but because he couldn’t help staying. 

“Alright, Jeanne,” Dean says, opening the door for her, “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow, then?” 

“Of course, sweetheart,” she says, and kisses him on the mouth softly, “Good night.”

“‘Night,” he says. 

He watches Jeannie through the window as she gets into her car and drives away. Dean rubs a hand on his face; his heart hurts and pulsates with the glory of love all at once. After her car disappears, he walks over to the seat by the phone and dials a familiar number. 

“Lewis household,” says a girl’s voice on the other end, “This is Sam.”

Jerry’s new wife of four years; Dean likes her. 

“It’s Dean,” he says, “Is Jer home yet?”

“Hi, Dean,” she says, her voice bright, “How are you? Yeah, he is, he’s making himself a hot chocolate.” 

Dean laughs at the image of Jerry doing that, then says, “I’m alright, I’m a little tired. How are you, honey?” 

“I’m tired, too,” she says, “Been planting a garden in the yard, really cultivating it.” 

Sam’s younger than him and Jerry by quite a lot, and it makes Dean smile. How nice it is to be young, he thinks. 

“Gardening isn’t easy, Sam,” he warns, jokingly, and she laughs. 

“Jer’s coming,” she says, then he hears her shout out, not directly into the phone of course, “It’s Dean, he wants to talk to you!”

There’s the sound of the phone switching hands and then Jerry says, “What is this, Paul? Getting fresh with my wife?”

Dean laughs, and Jerry does too. 

“No, you silly idiot,” Dean says, seriously, “Jeannie and I watched you on the telethon tonight. I wanted to say hi, I miss you.” 

“Oh, bubbe,” Jerry says, “I miss you too. How was I?”

“You tell me,” Dean says, and Jerry laughs. 

“Hey, at risk of upsetting Jeanne,” Jerry says, “Sam wanted to know if you two wanted to come over for dinner? I didn’t want to have to explain to her why that may not be so smart, so maybe just make an excuse if you don’t want we should do that.” 

“No,” Dean says, slowly, “We’re all grown up; she forgives you.”

“Oh,” Jerry says, then adds in his typical fashion, “Good.” 

Dean knows that’s the best he’s going to get on the subject so he doesn’t push it.

“Jer, I love you,” he says. 

“Silly, I love you, too. I’m tired, though, bubbe. The telethon always kills me, you know I’m too old for it, but I’d do a lot for my kids,” Jerry says, then adds, “Can I call you back tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Dean says, “In the morning?”

“As soon as possible,” Jerry says. 

They hang up. Dean goes upstairs to get in bed, and when he washes his face, he thinks about Jeannie, Jerry; he thinks about Sam, too and wonders if she knows about what’s between Jerry and him. He wonders if it would matter to her; he always thought Patti knew, but Patti was older, and maybe Sam doesn’t care because she’s a different generation. Dean knows that his kids don’t really care about these things. 

Dean thinks about Jerry, so long ago now, telling him he had pretty eyes, pretty eyelashes. Dean thinks about Jerry kissing him on the cheek, and Dean thinks about Patti calling him Jerry’s wife. And, you know something? He doesn’t mind, anymore. Maybe he’s gotten soft, or maybe he’s just finally finished growing up, and anyway, though things have been bleak for him lately, Dean feels like Christmas is tomorrow. He’s full of love and affection, and finally, really, he doesn’t mind that he feels this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this made me cry


End file.
